This is Mendota in summer viewed from a satellite on a clear day. It is an island of trees amid an ocean of fields.

Julie Gehant lived the first 5/8 of her life here.

Julie was in our army for the last 3/8 of her life. She went to Bosnia. She was a great soldier.

Some soldiers become casualties and some don’t. If a soldier becomes a casualty, that doesn’t prove he was a good soldier or a bad one. Nor does serving for years while not becoming a casualty prove anything. A great soldier volunteers, learns his job, does his job and does it the best he can where ever they send him. Julie was a great soldier. That is why the PGR would stand at Julie’s funeral.

Sometimes we do happier “welcome home” missions. PGRiders escorted 27 year-old Marine SGT Lee Bode from the Des Plaines Oasis to his home in Elk Grove Village today, the day after Julie’s funeral. Lee had been a friend to Steve Kazmierczak for ten years. Steve gave his cat to Lee’s family.

Steve had never met Julie but Steve would die just minutes after Julie died, and in the same room. Steve was a good kid from a good family. He wanted to be a soldier too. Days after the 911 attacks, Steve joined our army. Unlike Julie, Steve received an “administrative discharge” six months later without completing basic training. Six years later on Valentine’s day, Steve shot Julie.

If she had fallen as a soldier, even if it were from friendly fire or a vehicle roll-over, we would say it was part of the war effort and her sacrifice was made in a great cause. Julie’s family did not have even that comfort.

~~~

Yesterday, I traveled to Mendota for the only funeral of the five Northern Illinois University students who had been a soldier, and so the only funeral the PGR might attend. It was cold, as it is supposed to be. I held a flag at the door of a church under these icicles. They were formed from water that melted from the direct sun falling on a dark roof surface and then re-freezing.

Icicles can also form from condensation of moisture in the nasally exhaled breathe of healthy and hydrated PGRiders.

No wonder that the two girls below walked briskly down the sidewalk in front of the church. The cold weather, the brilliance of Old Glory in the sun and the many ice-encrusted men made their familiar route mildly intimidating.

But that was only so in their minds. Our Ride Captain was soft-spoken.

Our Assistant State Captain and his bride were there.

Our National Administrator of Public Relations & Media was there.

And the Engineers from Alabama were there.

Julie had just left active duty to become a Reservist and finish college. Her return home had included some recruiting. When I was standing under those church icicles, a large, young fellow went down our flagline shaking hands. He was dressed in civilian clothes but he wore a black beret. He told me that he had been her friend since high school and that she had recruited him for the army.

During the shooting a woman’s voice cried out, “He’s reloading! Get out!”

Last night, the evening of Julie’s funeral day, at 2103, channel 7 news speculated that the voice was Julie’s. I agree with that likelihood. A good soldier would have the leadership and the presence of mind take that helpful initiative, even at risk to herself. She has earned her line on the Mendota War Memorial.

Four of us remained at the church to stand near that door when the congregation emerged for the procession to the cemetery just north of town. Most of us had gone ahead.

We marched to the site of her burial.

A detail from Fort Sheridan (I could have caught a ride with them) was there to perform the honors. This soldier wore long black underwear.

The VFW has a more relaxed dress code.

Don’t call him Sarge. Its “First Sergeant”.

The Wilbert guy was rightly proud of the small refuge he had created. It seemed warm inside the tent just because the air was stilled. His contraption would hold the beautiful vault base and top and the casket. He could alone assemble those three heavy objects and then lower them as the family watched.

All was set for Julie and her family and her friends. The PGR, the VFW, the army and the Wilbert guy waited in the wind. The procession arrived.

That was my cue to leave. I wouldn’t take pictures during the graveside service anyway and I had 130 miles to cover before I could get my grandson from kindergarten. So I started back to my truck.

My path took me toward this car. The occupants thought I wanted to talk to them and they rolled-down their windows. This young Marine was Julie’s friend. I feel I never say the right things in moments like that, but the people I say them to are always so gracious anyway.

And that is how I left: Dozens of people waiting in the cold cemetery and hundreds about to arrive.

I left Mendota after noon and made Lake Bluff East School by 1430, barely. Kevin, observant and thoughtful boy that he is, noticed that I was picking him up wearing my flag-holding clothes, as I did exactly a week before. He turned and looked at the flagpole in front of his school and then he turned to me: “Did another soldier die?”

So my day started with this flag in front of Julie’s church,

and ended with this flag in front of Kevin’s school.

Both flags had been lowered for Julie. So I told him, yes, a girl-soldier died. I told him that she was a good girl and a good soldier and only God knows why she had to die.

Photo album ONE

Photo album TWO

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